Sasha decided he hated airports, he was only waiting in arrivals at Terminal 3 at Heathrow, but he needed a cigarette and a drink. He wondered what Vladimir would say about falling off the wagon, but he no longer wanted to be clean, to dance or do anything, well apart from drink. It had been over 14 hours since his last and he needed the oblivion that alcohol offered. He looked at the board the United Airlines Flight from Newark had landed 23 minutes ago, he was sober and the devastation of the past week was creeping across his consciousness, worse than the throbbing ache of his head, the dryness in his mouth and the weariness of his soul. Six days, 10 hours and 14 minutes ago his Manfred, the love of his life had died and now he was a spectator to his own life. Bernd and Katya Schnagel were living in Manfred's Deptford home, arranging the funeral, the dispersal of the choreographer's estate and raking over the ashes of Sasha's life. He was Manfred's significant other, but that did not matter anymore, in the terms of the law he was nobody, not a partner, definitely not family. Manfred had been his world and he had the impression the Schnagel's dismissed his grief as insignificant because of his youth.

The tall, wiry, blonde haired, man shifted on his feet and waited for his unofficial family to arrive. God, Piotr was now seven and Gregori, five. Alex had not seen Vladimir, Luci and the boys for over a year since his last visit home, to New York. They had traveled the ocean to comfort the lost boy they had opened their home to four years ago. It was not fair, Manfred had only been 56, far too young. They should have had years and years of happiness together. Sasha rubbed the stubble on his face. He did not feel 21, but a million years old.

Piotr broke into a run when they came through the doors flinging himself at Sasha closely followed by the ball of energy that was Gregori. Luci walked up and Sasha noted the changes to her thin frame, a new life, another child due in five months he would guess. Sasha then suddenly thought of the future, and hoped it was a baby girl. Vladimir stopped and joined in hugging Maria's boy and his two sons.

No words were spoken as Luci moved forward to kiss the cuckoo, whom she had grown to love. Sasha looked truly awful.

As the group walked to the car park, Vladimir spoke in low murmur to the young dancer. "So your drinking again. I would in your shoes. You are coming home with us and getting your act together. No arguments. You will get through this or do you need rehab?"

Sasha smirked and swallowed the bark of laughter, "I prefer cold turkey. No alcohol for 14 hours now. OK to drive and everything." The only reason he'd stopped drinking was to pick up the closest thing he had to family, those who cared enough to share his grief.

The young man unlocked the battered 20 year old Range Rover, putting the luggage in the boot, as Luci managed to belt in the kids and herself into the back. Vladimir climbed into the passenger seat and noted the car was clean inside, very clean. He guessed cleaned this very morning.

Sasha drove east into central London, to Chelsea , to a house recently vacated after being rented for six years; Ian Rider's house at 12 Cheyne Walk. It was now furnished in a mix of junk shop bargains, Ikea eclectic and the few items that had been in storage since June 2002. Aleksandr 'Sasha' Makarov, formerly Alex Rider had inherited a fair portfolio of investments, this house and a few Rider family heirlooms on his 21st birthday, seven months previously. Sasha had been decorating and renovating the house in the intervening months between class, practice and shows. The major change had been the conversion of Ian's former office in the attic into a practice room, with bar, decent sound system and mirrors. Manfred's house in Deptford had become the base for the miss-match of dancers training, learning and creating with Manfred, his untimely death had thrown a spanner in the works for the new larger company the German had started to assemble with more intricate works planned, a whole ballet being rehearsed.

Sasha showed the boys into their room, then Vladimir and Luci into the master bedroom which had an en-suite, as Alex had moved his meagre belongings into the box room on the second floor. The young dancer then went downstairs to start to cook up a basic meal, but first he poured himself a large glass of vodka.

The meal was spaghetti Puttenesca, with salad and bread. There was ice cream and brownies for desert. The meal could be accompanied with wine as there were a few bottles in the house, kept for guests, but Vladimir didn't drink and Luci was on restriction due to her condition. So a jug of water made its way to the table, not that he thought his glass of vodka would fool anyone. He bet Vladimir would allow him to pickle himself until after the funeral and memorial service. Then back to New York to mourn, get sober and start again.

...

Cindy Cooper packed her bag, she was leaving the Royal Ballet School, in Richmond, which had been a true home from home initially; but the upper school had seen her falter. Her early promise had vanished into the endless toil to be perfect, when in reality it had been two years of constant rejection and criticism. There was the lingering burn of failure in her gut, she had flunked her final showcase. She had never been popular, always slightly too muscular or too tall for an ideal ballerina. Far too tall at 5' 9" for the corps de ballet and not individual nor brilliant enough to be a soloist. Maybe she should join the army and just forget her dreams. She was not going home to Barnsley, not her home really after her parent's divorce three years ago. Her mother had turned bitter and resentful harpy and her dad had a new wife and a baby to worry about. Her Uncle B was picking her up this morning. Her parents had indulged her dreams, but now they said it was time to grow up, to take A Levels, to aim for university doing a proper course and settling down to be normal. The tall brunette fought back the tears, she did not want normal. No, she wanted to dance. Uncle Bernie would listen to her and give her some straight answers and sound advice. He would support her to follow her dream, he wanted her to be happy, successful and believed in her.

...

Sasha read the email from Sergeant Cooper. It was a good reason to return home. His two months in New York had been a stop gap. He was clean, had continued to train, go to AA meetings, and had danced for Vladimir on occasion. The older Russian had tried to push him to join his company, but Sasha's heart was not in it. Training and choreography, work as an individual freelance, possibly meant starvation but he was the maverick Maria had foretold. Yes, he would return to London and see how the future panned out. One step at a time. He may never dance professionally again without his Manfred, but maybe a change in career was possible.

…

He watched as Cindy performed her audition pieces, he agreed with the conclusions he had read on her final report card from the Royal Ballet School Covent Garden. The pieces, though beautiful, were lacking, but the girl was driven to be dancing here, looking for a new direction. Sasha, more than anyone, knew classical dance was not for everyone. The look of the dancers was restrictive, you had to fit the rigid mould of the profession. He sat back and looked around the community hall they had rented for the week. The Sergeant was watching as Sasha made no comment , but stood and stretched. "Please watch, I am going to freeform to your basic routine. Watch and learn, you just feel the music, let your body react, your feelings flow. Forget concentrating on form and technique. That's ingrained now. We need something more. Your performance was faultless, but soulless. That is not dance. Dance is life. Watch and then you will perform, again."

Cindy and her uncle watched as the serious, young man become alive. The same music but a completely different interpretation, a raw, frantic and energized flow of movement rather than the precise, elegant and conventional she had presented, the opposite of all she had been taught.

...

Sasha even in his previous incarnation as teen spy had never been to Hereford, the town that was home to Special Forces HQ at Credenhill. The town was old and full of beautiful timber framed buildings. He had booked into the Green Dragon for three nights as he trained and danced with Cindy. He was still in two minds on what direction his life would take, although there was some satisfaction in polishing the eighteen year old girl's skills, just to prove her former teachers wrong. They had missed her drive and steely determination, but sometimes a student needed bitter disappointment to get the impetuous to shine. In his own case he had lost everything, including himself, when Manfred had seen something in the homeless street kid, then he had become the person he was meant to be, his own man.

He sat and pondered the menu in the bar restaurant. Salad or something more homely. He was not watching his weight and decided on protein. "Steak and chips with a green salad on the side, no dressing."

"And to drink? Would sir like to see the wine list?"

"Oh, I don't drink alcohol" he left the anymore off the end, "ummm, do you do orange squash?" He had never liked blackcurrant and had weaned himself off his former addiction to coca cola. He also only liked proper fruit juice at breakfast and had never developed a taste for beer, wine or cider, even though he could drink non-alcoholic versions of these. No Alex had always drunk tequila or vodka as his poison of choice, but he had taken the pledge once again. His life was his to control. He did not need chemical stimulation, it was too tempting to go back to more dangerous pursuits when drinking. He would never be addicted to hard drugs again. Detox was close to being worse than anything that had happened when working for MI6.

"Of course sir" said the bright and cheerful waitress with her lovely local accent, so different from Londoners.

He noted the few figures at the bar, the stance of trained professional soldiers. He then noticed a familiar face, Eagle. If one of K unit were here, maybe Wolf and Snake would surface as well. Would they recognise him? He was much taller, again a bit on the thin side, with a very masculine face with strong jaw and the fact his nose had been reshaped after being badly broken in Miami.

He looked through the magazine he had bought earlier 'House and Home'. His house was now home to four dancers, friends who had urgently needed digs after Manfred's death. Their basic rent covered the bills. He thought on his house and its basic four bedrooms, it would be a squeeze if both he and Cindy moved in, more dorms than the barely furnished house it was.

As he ate Sasha thought back on living, working and training with Manfred, and his sometimes impossible expectations.

….

Eighteen year old Sasha had been food shopping and had arrived back at the house in Deptford, to overhear Manfred screaming abuse at the dancers he had hired. He must have heard Alex come in because he opened the door of the studio and shouted upstairs "Come in here now, Russian boy."

There were five dancers in the rehearsal room and Manfred looked at the end of his tether. "You!" Manfred pointed to a tall lean dancer "Show Sasha the steps"

Sasha watched as he put on his shoes and stretched.

"Now dance." Manfred ordered of his lover.

The young dancer went through the steps without a word of complaint from the irate German and danced along with music.

"No No NO!"

Sasha looked shocked and waited for further instruction. "The steps, its not right. I need to think. Everyone leave. No not you, Sasha. You have to be my muse. Listen to the music and dance. Free flow."

Alex remembered the music and he waited for the first few beats and he let himself go. Sergei had a video camera set up to record his practice sessions to review every move.

The music finished and Sasha again turned to face the choreographer. Manfred looked thoughtful and then asked "Do you remember your movements?" To which Sasha nodded, noting the five dancers were about dressed to leave, but had hung back to watch Manfred work.

He had been tempted to roll his eyes at his lover, knowing Manfred's strange whims and requests. God forbid you forget anything.

"OK again." Alex repeated himself. "Lovely. Now I must concentrate". The other dancers left and Alex then went to the bar to go through stretches and bar work as he knew Manfred would want to try different steps leaps and sequences as he totally rethought the piece until he was happy.

…

Happy, chaotic times, those first few months together. The dancer finished the excellent steak, leaving most of the chips. It was then that he noted Eagle was looking at him intently. Sasha smirked knowing that the soldier was trying to place his face and was wondering where he recognised the stranger from.

Eagle picked up his pint and went to talk to the blond mystery, obviously too young to be a soldier, but they had met through work.

"Jack Montrose." Eagle held out his hand noting the amusement playing on the face of the young man sat alone in the restaurant.

A death grip handshake and Sasha introduced himself "Its good to see you again Eagle. I'd actually hoped you would not recognise me, but as a trained professional you are meant to notice the details. Even so, I've changed quite a bit in the six years since we last met. Aleksandr Ivanovich Makarov, but you may call me Sasha or Cub if you like."

"Cub? Oh my God Cub. Are you here to train again? Christ I saw nothing on the boards about any spooks for re-evaluation"

The young dancer then laughed "Oh God, I haven't worked for the Bank since 2002. I... I went freelance for a short period then I changed vocations. I dance now."

"Dance?"

"Yeah I'm here to assist Sergeant Cooper's niece, I don't know if you've met Cindy. She has promise. Covent Garden weren't keen to employ her but I think she might need a more expansive repertoire to show her full potential."

Eagle then looked at Cub more closely. Signs that a decent plastic surgeon had done work on his face, correcting a broken nose and maybe even a cheek bone. Cub was a hell of a lot taller, which proved that Wolf was not telling lies when he had stated Cub had been only 14 in 2001, when he had been working for MI6 Special Operations. "So, were you at Richmond like Cindy then?"

"Royal Ballet School? No freaking way. I learned to dance from an old friend, Mikhail Brezkin, he was a freelance fixer, worked for various mafia cartels and such. He was a much better employer than Blunt or Jones."

"In 2002?"

"Yeah, I had picked up a few bad habits, but after rehab, I changed career paths, took up dance full time, finished high school on a correspondence course and was adopted by Maria Makarova."

"Oh, interesting life, you've had then." Eagle thought on the fact the kid had worked for cartels, which meant anything from drug running, doing hits or considering his age working as in selling himself.

"I do appreciate the Chinese Curse, 'may you live in interesting times'. I got more than enough of that after my uncle Ian was murdered in 2001."

Eagle looked puzzled.

"You didn't think I volunteered for espionage work at 14? I was blackmailed and forced into it. All because of Ian. However, it has been nice to learn your real name and now you know mine. I guess life at Credenhill suits you well enough. I saw Fox in February when I sorted out my trust fund, but I want nothing to do with you people ever again. I only know Sergeant Cooper because of Cindy, she was a fan of my late partner, Manfred Schnagel. I used to perform for his Modern Dance Company." Sasha stood up and held out his hand, he really wanted to retire upstairs now, he needed a bath. He then had a truly wicked thought, "Would you like to join me upstairs?"

The SAS instructor looked at the handsome young man who was waiting for an answer before realising it was a pick up line. Eagle blushed bright red, "I'm not, err no , I'm fine, here. Err, see you around umm Cub".